


The Substitute Who Almost Ruined Christmas

by Lynx22281



Series: Unfold Your Love [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Daddy!Cas, M/M, Racism, Santa Claus - Freeform, daddy!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the last day of preschool before Christmas break started and Dean and Castiel decided to surprise Emma by picking her up together when school let out at noon.  They were going to take her out on a daddies-daughter lunch date, giving the three of them some much needed time together without the twins.  For the most part, Emma was good about sharing her dads’ love and affection with her baby brothers, so they wanted to reward her by giving her an afternoon of their full attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Substitute Who Almost Ruined Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't as fluffy as my timestamps for this verse have been, but the idea came to me last night and I just had to write it.
> 
> Also, thinking up a title for this one was PAINFUL!

It was the last day of preschool before Christmas break started and Dean and Castiel decided to surprise Emma by picking her up together when school let out at noon.  They were going to take her out on a daddies-daughter lunch date, giving the three of them some much needed time together without the twins.  For the most part, Emma was good about sharing her dads’ love and affection with her baby brothers, so they wanted to reward her by giving her an afternoon of their full attention.

 

Emma wasn’t outside in the line of hip-high students wrapped in brightly colored winter gear to ward off the chilly breeze, but that wasn’t altogether too surprising.  Her teacher, Mrs. Donna, had thought up an ingenious way to recognize her students for good behavior and to get her room cleaned up in the afternoon at the same time.  Each day she picked a couple of _Special Helpers_ to be her assistants in putting the room back to rights at the end of the day.  She’d cleverly turned a chore into a prize that all of her students clambered over to be awarded.  Emma had been Mrs. Donna’s special helper at least once a week ever since she started school in back in August.

 

Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot, and he and Cas headed into the warmth of the school prepared to bask in a few minutes of praise from their daughter’s teacher before taking Emma to Red Robin for chicken fingers and milkshakes.

 

When they got to the festively decorated classroom, a severe looking older woman was sitting at Mrs. Donna’s desk and Emma wasn’t immediately in sight.

 

Dean glanced over to Cas just in time to see the happy smile fade from his face.

 

“Um, hello,” the doctor began politely.  “We’re Emma Winchester’s fathers.  She wasn’t out at the car line when we pulled up.”

 

There was a pitiful sniffle from the far side of the room.  Emma sat on a tiny stool facing the corner, her drooping shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

 

Dean took a step in her direction, but Cas grabbed his arm.  If their daughter was in time out, then there was probably a good reason that they needed to discuss with the teacher first.  They were not the type of parents to blame the teacher when their kid did something wrong.  While Emma was a good kid most of the time, they both knew she wasn’t a saint.

 

“Mr. Winchester,” the woman said with a self-important air.  “I’m Ms. Strickland, substituting for Mrs. Hanscum.  Emma had a hard time following instructions during coloring time today and has been in time out since then.”

 

That didn’t sound like their daughter.  Sure, she could act out on occasion, especially now that her little brothers took up so much of everybody’s time and attention, but if someone told her to do something or to not do something, she was quick to obey with little fuss, even when she was in a bad mood. 

 

Dean slipped his hands into his pants pockets.  “Not to excuse her behavior, but she is a little wound up over Christmas, and you know how kids are as the days count down.”  He gave the teacher a charming smile, hoping to infuse some levity into the situation.

 

The woman didn’t respond to his attempt as she opened one of the desk drawers and produced three copies of a coloring page with Santa on it.  One copy was torn clean in half though the picture had been fully (and _beautifully_ , Dean might add) colored in.  The second one was partially finished with only the red of Santa’s hat left to be filled in, and the third one had only his face colored in.

 

When neither Dean nor Castiel reacted in any negative way to the pictures, Ms. Strickland sighed and asked, “Do you see anything wrong with these pictures?”

 

“No,” Castiel answered while Dean’s eyes were drawn to where the rest of the class’s Santa pictures were taped to the chalkboard.  Thirteen Santas wearing red suits with rosy pink cheeks and snappy blue eyes stared back at him.

 

Dean looked back down to the three pictures of a dark skinned, brown eyed Santa laid out over the teacher’s desktop.  His nostrils flared in instant understanding.  Sure, his kid had seen the traditional Santa Claus figure portrayed in books and on TV shows, but the lap she’d sat on for the past four years belonged to Rufus Turner, who dragged his red velvet suit and white curly beard out of storage every year to play good old St. Nick for the kids who showed up for the Roadhouse’s annual Christmas party. 

 

“You put our kid in time out because her Santa is black?” he asked, incredulously.

 

“Yes, Mr. Winchester.  When I saw what she was doing the first time, I took her paper and tore it up.  I gave her a new one and told her to do it over making sure she used the right colors on the second picture.”  Mrs. Strickland didn’t seem to think anything was amiss with how she handled the situation.

 

Castiel stared at the woman as though she had suddenly sprouted two heads while Dean fumed silently at his side.

 

“When I came back around to her seat, I saw that she had done the same thing again.  I told her she had one last chance to color her picture correctly or I was sending her to time out.  She did not follow directions on the third picture, so I sent her to sit on the stool until you arrived to pick her up.”  The substitute clasped her hands together in front of her and jutted her chin out imperiously.

 

Dean angrily pointed a finger at her, but held his tongue against the tide of curse words that weren’t appropriate to be said out loud in a preschool classroom with his daughter just a few feet away.  Instead, he whirled around on his heel and walked to the back of the room.

 

Over his shoulder, he heard Cas launch into a tirade using that deadly calm voice of his that was ten times more effective at making someone crap their pants than if he’d started yelling.

 

“Be glad you’re just the substitute, Mrs. Strickland, or we’d pull our daughter out of your class so fast you’d be dizzy.  Ms. Hanscum is going to be appalled over how you handled her students in her absence.  We will be reporting this incident to Principal…”

 

Dean lost interest in Castiel’s berating of the substitute teacher in favor of kneeling down next to the stool where Emma sat hunched over her lap and crying into her palms.  When she looked up at him, her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and her breathing had already escalated to hitching sobs.

 

“Hey, bumblebee,” he said soothingly gathering her up into his arms, petting her blonde curls gently. 

 

“Da-dad-dy,” she hiccupped miserably.  “I-I’m…so-sorry…”

 

“Oh, no, no, baby girl.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”  Dean squeezed her tightly, his heart aching over how upset she was.

 

“I-I ma-ade the te-teacher m-mad at me,” she wailed into the shoulder of his coat.  “An-and now Sa-santa wo-wo-won’t li-ke m-me any mooore.”

 

“Santa won’t stop liking you, honey,” he murmured softly.  “I know for a fact that Santa is very much looking forward to seeing you at the party tonight.  I bet he’ll be really happy if you give him one of those pictures you colored.”

 

Emma sniffled and whispered, “Ms. Strickland said they were ugly.”

 

Dean ground his teeth together to keep from growling his displeasure at his daughter’s hard work being called ugly.

 

“Your pictures were beautiful, Em-bee,” he said firmly, making direct contact with her watery blue eyes to emphasize what he was saying as the truth.   He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently began to wipe the tears and snot from her face.  “When we get home, we’ll find some tape to fix the torn one.  It’s my favorite.  But, first Papa and I thought we’d take you to Red Robin for lunch.  Would you like that?”

 

She sniffled again with her forehead tucked against her dad’s neck.  “Are Luke and Harry coming too?”

 

“Nope, Gramma’s gonna pick them up from daycare and keep them all afternoon.”  He held the hanky to her nose.  “Blow, baby.”

 

She blew her nose into his cotton covered palm.  “Just you and me and Papa?”

 

“Yep.  Just the three of us.”  Dean folded the wet handkerchief in on itself before sticking it back in his pocket.

 

“I’d like that,” she said with a small smile.

 

He smiled at her and rubbed his cheek against hers.  “Red Robin,” he sang softly.

 

“Yum!” she answered with a little giggle.

 

Cas appeared at Dean’s shoulder holding Emma’s bright green wool peacoat and her hot pink owl-shaped book bag. 

 

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” Cas asked quietly.

 

Emma extricated herself from Dean’s embrace, holding her arms out so Cas could help her into her coat.  Then she held her arms up to Cas, who immediately picked her up, settling her on his hip.  Smiling, he leaned in to peck her red nose, making her go cross eyed.

 

“I’m in the mood for a Monster Nana-Nana-Moo-Moo, how ‘bout you-you?" Cas sing-songed. "Wanna share one with me?”

 

Dean made a face at the mention of the chocolate banana milkshake that his husband and daughter always ordered.   “Gross.”

 

Emma giggled, giving him her first real smile since they arrived in the classroom.  Castiel turned to lead the way through the handful of round student tables towards the door.  Dean paused by the teacher’s desk where Ms. Strickland sat, looking much affronted by whatever Castiel had said to her while Dean was calming Emma down.

 

“Seriously, lady.  It’s 2014, not 1954.  Plus, this is preschool.  If a kid decides Santa needs to be purple with green polka dots, then you tell her she did a good job.  You don’t tell her her picture’s ugly and rip it up in front of her classmates.  Here's hoping you get a big ol' lump of _black_ coal in your stocking this year.”  He sneered at the woman before following Cas and Emma out, hoping that a basket of greasy chicken fingers and a disgusting milkshake would be enough keep today from being a traumatic experience that would negatively affect Emma’s outlook on school.

 

*****

 

Later that evening, Emma shyly walked up to Santa as he sat near the big Christmas tree in one corner of the Roadhouse.  She held her taped-together first attempt at coloring his likeness behind her back.

 

“Hey there, Miss Emma,” Santa said as she approached.  “Have you been a good girl this year?”

 

She glanced over her shoulder to where her fathers were watching her.  Her papa gave her a gentle nod and smile before she turned back to Santa and replied, “Yes, sir.”

 

“What do you have there?”  He motioned to what she was holding behind her back.

 

Emma timidly held the picture out for Santa to take.  “It got torned.”

 

His dark eyes softened as he studied the coloring page.  “It looks just like me!  I’m gonna put this on the fridge in my workshop and show all the elves and reindeer when I get back to the North Pole tonight.”

 

“Yay!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, forgetting her shyness as she climbed up onto his knee and launched into her Christmas wish list.

 

Smiling, Dean stretched an arm over his husband’s shoulder as they watched their little girl pull chuckles and grins out of normally gruff Rufus.  “She’s one special kid, Cas.”

 

“Got that right,” Castiel agreed, smiling and snuggling closer into Dean’s side.


End file.
